


The Best Laid Plans

by sofia_gigante



Series: Blade Runner and Point Man [6]
Category: Blade Runner (1982), Blade Runner (Movies), Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Angst, BAMF Arthur, Blade Runner AU, Blade Runner! Eames, Eames still can't catch a break, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9199238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: “I think I can get you off-world...I know someone on Mars. Someone with…with a bit of pull.”Plans are made, truths comes out, and Eames finally finds out what Arthur does for a living.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for taking so long for getting this next installment posted! The rest of the chapters are written, and shall be posted over the next few weeks. Promise.
> 
> As always, big thanks to my beta Sibilant for her wonderful work!
> 
> At this point in the story, I'd insist new readers begin at the [beginning of the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/516802) to know what's going on here.

“How do I look?” Eames asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

Arthur gave Eames’ makeshift outfit a once-over. It was the best they could do with the room’s limited resources—all the clothes here were designed for Arthur and his leaner frame. His gaze stopped at the impossibly tight white undershirt straining across Eames’ pectorals. It was so small that it barely tucked into the band of Eames’ pajama pants, and as soon as Eames moved it sprung up to reveal his navel. 

“Like I really, really wish we didn’t have a business call in one minute.”

Eames gave him a sly little grin as he shrugged on his jacket. It was still slightly damp, but considering he was about to meet his new “boss,” it seemed safer to cover up his too-tight shirt and wrinkled pajama pants. Eames could be stark naked under this jacket and still feel like himself—it was almost armor at this point. God knew he needed the extra bit of psychological protection.

He pulled up a chair besides Arthur, who was already setting up the Vid Phōn on the desk. He plugged it into a keyboard, and began clacking madly. Across the small screen, a string of letters and numbers flowed like a current of light.

“Never seen anyone do anything like that to a phone before,” Eames mused. His fingers felt downright idle next to Arthur’s so he busied himself the only way he knew how—he lit a cigarette. 

“I’m opening up the secure channel so Ariadne can get through,” Arthur said, his voice far away and distracted. Eames decided it best to leave him to his work, so he smoked, and tried his best to not look like a man who had just spent the past 24 hours either sleeping or having sex.

“There,” Arthur muttered, and the phone made a high-pitched, whirring tone. It died, then repeated, and was about to start again when the screen suddenly filled with an image of a woman’s face. No, strike that, a  _ girl _ . She couldn’t be more than eighteen, could she? Not with that heart-shaped face and unblemished skin. God, if she was that young, she must be some sort of bloody genius to set up everything she had here.

“Arthur, I’m glad you’re safe,” the girl said, and she gave him a quick, little smile that showed off her perfectly straight teeth. The grin vanished as quickly as it had come. “There’s been a lot of chatter on the Proculus network. They’ve got everyone they’ve got on the West Coast headed that way.”

“Shit,” Arthur sighed. “How much time do I have left?”

“You don’t,” Ariadne said. “Your choice last night made sure of that.” Only then did her gaze fall on Eames, her eyes black and probing through the screen. “Is this the asset you were speaking of?”

Eames bristled at being called an “asset,” and was about to make some snide retort, when Arthur put a placating hand on his knee. 

“Yeah, this is the blade runner I was telling you about. His name is—”

“I know who he is,” she said, her gaze tracking something above the Vid Phōn’s monitor. “I have his records right here. Quite an impressive list of decorations you have there, Mr. Eames. Graduated first in your class from the SFPD police academy, awarded a division of replicant detection merit award. In seven years of service, you detected and retired thirteen replicants, including five Nexus-6. Awarded the SFPD’s purple shield after being wounded in the line of—”

“All right, I’m impressed you can find a public record of service,” Eames interrupted, unable to keep the acidic edge from his words. “Nice to meet you too.”

“We don’t need a hired gun for this job.” Ariadne turned her attention back to Arthur. 

“It’s not his gun we need,” Arthur said, “it’s his credentials.”

“Do I finally get to know what the hell is going on, now?” Eames asked, taking another long drag off his smoke.

“You still haven’t told him?” Ariadne said incredulously.

“I thought it best you be here to explain the entire—”

“No. You just didn’t want to deal with telling him what you really are.” Ariadne pursed her lips. “I don’t have time for your drama. You’ve already botched this—”

“All right,” Eames said, leaning forward to get closer to Ariadne. “Since you’re so busy, let me take a guess. You’re all part of some shady information-gathering network. Some faceless bigwig has paid you all dig up some dirt on Cobol, the second-largest chemical engineering firm in the galaxy. You sent your boy Arthur to infiltrate Cobol, use his magic metal box to extract these secrets, then get them back to your highest bidder.  _ But _ Proculus got wind of your little plan, and is now throwing everything they can to stop your scheme because they have some stake in these secrets, and don’t want them getting out.”

Eames leaned back in his chair, unable to repress his smirk when Ariadne’s jaw dropped.

“He’s a detective, is what he is,” Arthur said, and Eames didn’t miss the note of pride in his voice. It was unexpectedly touching. 

“All right, detective,” Ariadne said, “tell me then why you’re here.”

“Now that, I have no fucking clue.” Eames sighed. “Except you just mentioned something about credentials. Since you have my record open, you can see that I’m not a cop anymore, haven’t been one for years. So, you’re either talking about my Voight-Kampff operator license or my secret membership to the Venus Karaoke Lounge.”

“You still have a valid license,” Arthur said, “and free movement as a freelance rep-detect. Considering how easily we confused the Voight-Kampff machine with the PASIV—”

“So that’s what you call that thing,” Eames muttered.

“I thought maybe we could use you to sneak it past customs.” Arthur ignored Eames’ interruption. 

“Customs?” Eames asked, suspicion growing.

“At this point, Proculus has eyes at every train station, airport and spaceport in a 50 mile radius,” Ariadne said. “There’s no way to get Arthur and his intel out of the Bay Area without him being spotted, not by normal channels, anyway, and we’re running out of time to make the drop deadline here on Mars.”

“We thought that you could smuggle the PASIV and the information to the Martian colony,” Arthur said. “No one would question a licensed V-K operator with a machine like that, especially one with your record. You could have it off-world before Proculus even knew who to look for. What do you think?”

“I…” Eames was speechless. God, if only Arthur had explained this before they had an audience…

“Hey,” Arthur gave Eames a soft smile, “this your chance to finally see Mars for yourself.” 

Eames’ heart almost broke. 

“Ah. Um,” Eames rubbed his jaw. “You do realize that I…I can’t go off world, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Ariadne snapped. 

Eames’ stomach knotted, his entire body flushing hot. “I failed the physical for off-world travel. My…my nerves.”

“No…no…” Ariadne was tapping rapidly, her eyes darting across the off-screen monitor. “There is nothing on record about you having a neurological disorder.”

Arthur said nothing. He didn’t need to. His pale face, his inability to meet Eames’ gaze told him everything—Arthur had gambled everything on Eames and lost.

“God. Damn. It.” Ariadne hissed. “There’s no way to get you off-world with that thing, Arthur. Maybe we could’ve gotten you out last night via San Jose, but now…fuck!”

“If I was supposed to smuggle that thing out, what were you supposed to do?” Eames asked, feeling the unreasonable need to hear Arthur speak.

“Hide out here for a while, then make my way north to find a freighter off-world,” Arthur sighed. “it was slower and riskier for me, but it got the machine and the intel back to the client.”

Eames felt wretched. Here, once again, his body had betrayed him. Not just him, but Arthur. Now, because of Eames’ weakness, his frailty, Arthur and his machine were trapped on Earth with no way to get back to Mars…

Wait.

“I think I can get you off-world,” Eames said. God, his stomach hurt just thinking about it, his skin tingling. “I know someone on Mars. Someone with…with a bit of pull.”

“Look, I know you’re trying to salvage this, but some retired police captain with a time-share on Mars isn’t going to—”

“Robert Fischer.”

Arthur and Ariadne stared at Eames.

“How do you know Robert Fischer?” Aridane asked, incredulous.

“He’s my ex.”

“Your ex-boss?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” Eames snapped.

Silence fell across the conversation again. 

“When you say ex-boyfriend,” Ariadne said, her tone careful, “you mean—”

“I mean that yes, one of the richest and most powerful men in the solar system deigned to date a lowly cop for over three years.”

Ariadne had the grace to look abashed.

“Look, all you need to know is that if I make one phone call to him, I can get Arthur and your little box to Mars before I’ve even hung up the phone.”

“That close, huh?” Arthur asked quietly,  avoiding looking him in the eye. God, how he wished this little pixie wasn’t watching them through the monitor so he could explain everything. 

“We were once, yes,” Eames admitted. “More than that, though, he owes me a big fucking favor, and I’m willing to cash it in to help you out.”

Arthur met his eye then. “I don’t know about this.”

“You have any other ideas?” Eames said, hating what it meant—he was helping Arthur leave Earth, where Eames couldn’t follow him.

“Robert Fischer isn’t exactly a generous man,” Ariadne said.

“This isn’t generosity. It’s debt, and if there’s one thing Robert hates, it’s being in debt.”

Ariadne and Arthur looked at each other, conducting a whole private conversation through their expressions. Finally, Ariadne sighed. 

“Fine. Make the call.”

“Well, um.” Eames squirmed. “There’s a little problem with that.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t actually have his number.”

Ariadne looked like she wanted to reach through the monitor and strangle Eames.

“Look, I know that sounds bad, but trust me! He’ll listen to me. I just…I just need his direct line. You seem to be the resourceful type, I’m sure you can locate it easily.”

“Oh yeah, the private number for Mars’ biggest energy supplier.” Ariadne snorted. “Anything else you want while I’m at it?”

“Yeah, actually, there is. I want to know who those cops were who came after me last night.”

Ariadne’s brow creased. “Cops?”

“Dirty cops, on Proculus’ payroll, most likely,” Arthur chimed in.

“I want to know who those bastards are,” Eames said, “and I want to take them down. That’s all I ask for in exchange for helping you. If I can’t get off this fucking planet, I sure as hell want to be able to go back to my own apartment again someday.”

God, the thought was more depressing than he wanted to admit. Just last night he had been willing to leave it all behind without a second glance. Not just for Arthur, but for the chance to do something different. Illegal, sure, but it wasn’t like Eames wasn’t already used to moral ambiguities in his work. 

“Fine,” Ariadne said. “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll message the number over as soon as I have it. In the meantime, lay low. The priority is keeping the PASIV safe.”

“Tell me, how does this PASIV thing work?” Eames asked. “How do you extract information through a needle in the arm?”

Ariadne shot Arthur a furious look. “You showed him how—”

“No! I swear he doesn’t even know where it is!” Arthur turned his attention back to Eames. “How do you know how it works? Did you mess with it when you had it?”

“Do I look bloody stupid to you?” Eames scoffed, though an uncomfortable knot was forming in his belly. He hadn’t seen the PASIV in action before…not in the real world. He’d dreamed about it, though, that strange surreal vision of him and Arthur plugged into it, desperately trying to leech pleasure out of each other’s clothed bodies before the machine’s fluid reached them. Eames knew how ridiculous it would sound to admit, so he just shrugged and said, “seemed to make sense, how it was built, is all. You don’t plug into machines with cannulas.”

Arthur didn’t seem convinced, and the stern crease of his brow definitely spoke of a conversation that would be had later, in private. 

“None of it matters now!” Ariadne snapped, bringing their attention back to the moment. “All that matters is getting Cobol’s intel back to Mars and keeping that PASIV—and you—out of Proculus’ hands. If they get their hands on any of it, it’s all over.”

Ariadne signed off before Arthur or Eames could say another word, leaving a blank screen flashing with “end call.”

“Well. She’s charming.” Eames sighed. He was really not looking forward to this next round of conversation with Arthur.

“Charm doesn’t make her the top information broker in the system,” Arthur muttered. He ran both his hands over his face. “And she’s a lot friendlier when the job you’ve spent six months planning isn’t in danger of going tits up.”

“So, you actually managed to finish the job yesterday?” Eames asked.

“Yup. Caught the head of Cobol’s planning department while he was getting a Saturday afternoon massage. Always good to have a back-up plan.” 

“And the intel?” 

Arthur tapped the side of his head. “All here.”

Eames raised an eyebrow. “So, if it’s in your head, how was I supposed to take it to Mars? You going to write it down?” 

“It’s…it’s complicated.”

“What, you think I can’t handle complicated?” Eames gave Arthur a quick little smile.

Arthur studied Eames for a long moment. Then, Arthur got up out of his chair, and went to the bathroom. Eames heard some knocking, the clink of tiles. A minute later, Arthur emerged, holding the PASIV in his hands. 

“I have to say, it doesn’t look like something that the world’s biggest corporation would kill for,” Eames said.

“It’s a prototype,” Arthur said as he put it down on the bed. He opened it up, revealing the strange machinery inside. “I stole it from my…my former employers.” 

“You’re telling me this is military tech?” Eames eyed the machine warily.

“Yeah. Developed by the Tyrell corporation for the Corp’s training programs.”

“Training programs?” Eames was even more confused now than he had been before.

“This machine, this PASIV, lets people share dreams.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Eames narrowed his eyes at Arthur.

“No, I’m not. It’s an amazing piece of technology. I heard that it’s something Tyrell used in replicant manufacturing that they adapted for human brains, but I don’t know for sure. All I do know is that you can share real thoughts and memories across multiple minds at once. I was going to show you the intel in dream-share, so then you’d have the information to pass on once you got to Mars.”

“Huh.” Eames looked at the machine with newfound respect—and curiosity. “How’s it work?”

Arthur spent the next fifteen minutes going over the machine with Eames, showing him the different components. Luckily, it had only received minimal damage in the scuffle in the alleyway, and Arthur had been able to fix most of it. Still, it took him a bit of effort to extract a small, plastic canister holding a clear fluid. He handed the canister to Eames. 

“That is the heart of the machine. Somnacin. The drug that makes it all happen. That vial you’re holding could pay for passage to Mars for three families.”

Eames held it up to the light, ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest.  _ Passage to Mars. _ He’d been so fascinated with the PASIV that he’d almost forgotten his part in this plan: to call Robert to secure Arthur passage—alone—to Mars with this machine. 

Silence stretched on between them, and Eames knew that Arthur was thinking the same thing as he was. Eames cleared his throat and handed the Somnacin back. “That’s…that’s quite valuable.”

“Are you sure…” Arthur hesitated. Eames knew what he was going to ask.

“I’m sure.”

“Fischer practically runs Mars these days. If he owes you a fav—”

“Don’t you think I’d be off-world already if that was the case?” Eames’s voice was sharper than he’d intended, but Arthur’s tentative optimism scraped sharply against the raw nerve in Eames’ heart. “It’s not a matter of calling in the right favors. I physically cannot leave.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing, Arthur! The way things are with my brain, the force of trying to leave the Earth’s atmosphere would fucking kill me! Don’t….don’t you think that I tried? When Robert told me he had to go, I tried everything I could to join him! I went to doctor after doctor. I even tried a G-force simulator, and the damn thing gave me seizures for a week at only Mach 2. I’m trapped here, Arthur, on this dying planet, in this broken body. I can’t leave!”

Arthur was silent, watching Eames with glistening eyes and tight lips. He simply took Eames’ anger, his frustration, without adding his own. Eames wondered what comforting lie he’d use now:  _ I’ll come back someday? I won’t leave? Maybe we can find a cure? _ No. Arthur didn’t do platitudes. It would be silence, and long stares, and the quiet countdown before reality tore this fragile tendril of possibility away from them both. 

The Vid Phōn screen illuminated a second before it began chiming. Arthur turned to it immediately, hiding his face from Eames. Eames turned away as well, though he didn’t need to. God, he needed a smoke.

“I have Robert Fischer’s private number.” Eames heard Ariadne say.

“That was fast,” Arthur said.

“It was surprisingly easy to find. Though I suspect getting a hold of him at home may prove harder.”

“What time is it there on Mars?” Eames forced himself to turn around. 

“About 5pm. Why?” Ariadne asked.

“Robert usually goes home around 11pm. Unless he goes out to dinner, then it’s more like 1am. He only gets about five hours of sleep a night. At least, he used to.”

Eames ignored the sudden stiffness in Arthur’s shoulders, focusing instead on Ariadne’s face.

“So, you have about six hours until your window opens.” Ariadne sighed, looked hard at Eames. “I hope this works, Mr. Eames. Otherwise—”

“It’ll work.” Eames projected a confidence he didn’t quite feel. 

Arthur ended the call with Ariadne, but he didn’t turn back to Eames. His spine was rigid, his shoulders raised, and he practically vibrated with apprehension.  

“You really trust Fischer?” Arthur asked slowly, still not looking at Eames. “Because, he may not be the same man you remember.”

“I don’t doubt that. Everyone changes.”

“He didn’t get to be the defacto king of Mars by making friends, Eames.”

“I know who he is, Arthur,” Eames said, a knot forming in his belly. “Deep down, I know—”

“Just because you’re still in love with him doesn’t mean he still loves you.”

Eames’ face stung, as if Arthur’s words had physically struck him. His heart constricted, his vision blurred. How…how fucking _ dare _ Arthur—

Arthur finally turned to Eames, and for the first time Eames saw what was written on Arthur’s face. Not jealousy, but fear. Honest-to-god fear. He’d never looked this afraid before—not when he’d been held at gunpoint in the alleyway, not when Eames had told him he had a gun on him in the dim sum shop, not during their get-away from the cops. There was something about bringing Robert into this that was quietly terrifying Arthur. 

“Tell me what you know about him.” Eames said.

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know if you want to hear it.”

“Look,” Eames took a deep, shaky breath, “I need you to understand something. Yes, I…I loved him. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t understand what he was. He was one person with me, and another when he was at work. I knew what I was to him—a release valve. A way to feel normal for a few hours each day before he went back to his corporate warfare.”

“And you were OK with what he did for a living?”

“He was fine with what I did for a living,” Eames said quietly. “Can’t say that about too many other people.”

“It’s different on Mars than on Earth. There are fewer rules, regulations. It’s the wild west out there, and he…”

“He’s a ruthless bastard, I know.”

“People who cross him disappear. You owe him a favor, you owe him your life.”

“Well, this time he owes me one.”

“For what?”

“For fucking leaving me here to die alone!”

Silence stretched between them. 

“So, you’re gambling this operation on his personal feelings for you?” Arthur’s voice shook.

“Yes. Yes I am. Because I know he’ll listen to me.” Eames leaned closer to Arthur. “Because I know things about him that no one else does. I know how to play him.”

“Then why didn’t you have his number already?”

“Because I didn’t want it!” Eames said. “What was I going to do? Pretend we could have a long distance relationship? I wanted a clean break. To move on with my life.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Arthur’s eyes crackled. He was angry, cornered, lashing out. Eames could strike back in kind, escalate this into a full-on fight. Or...

“Pretty fucking miserably until about a week ago.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Then I met you.”

Arthur froze. He looked at Eames sidelong, his face pinched, guarded.

“You’re the first person I’ve met who’s made me feel like being alive is still worth it.” Eames’ heart pounded, his palms sweated. There. Cards on the table. He added another. “Not just ‘cause you look deadly in a suit, neither. You’re smart. Capable. And you make a hell of a get-away driver.”

The corner of Arthur’s lip twitched slightly before falling back into a narrow line. Eames got up off the bed, legs shaking. He closed the distance between him and Arthur, then sank down on his knees in front of him. 

“Right now, you’re the only person who means a good goddamn to me, Arthur. It’s fucking killing me that the only way I can help you is to send you away where I can’t follow.  But I’m doing this for you. If it means having to manipulate my ex’s guilt complex, I will do that. I will go with you as far as I can, Arthur, right to the door of the shuttle. I will see this through for you. I promise. I just need you to trust me, too.”

Arthur studied Eames, his eyes dark and hesitant. He raised his hand slowly, and palmed Eames’ cheek. 

“I really, really want to,” Arthur whispered. “I just…I don’t trust easily.”

“Don’t blame you one bit,” Eames said. He covered Arthur’s hand with his own, tugging it gently off of his face so he could thread their fingers together. “Neither do I.”

Arthur smiled, a wan, fragile thing. He looked down at their joined hands on his lap, where Eames’ thumb was gently rubbing the side of his finger. 

“It’s killing me, too.” Arthur’s words were so quiet that Eames thought he’d imagined them.

“What is?” 

“Leaving you here.” Arthur squeezed Eames’ hand so tightly it hurt. “You and I, we…we could’ve made a hell of a team…”

A lump rose in Eames’ throat, and he swallowed hard. 

“We still can. We still have to finish this, remember? Get you and your intel and your PASIV back to Mars.”

Arthur took a long, steadying breath. “I hope you’re as convincing with Robert as you are with me.”

_ I hope so, too, _ Eames thought to himself.

“It’ll help my case if I don’t look like I just crawled out of a trash pile.” Eames looked down at his too-small shirt and his wrinkled pajama pants under his damp trench coat. 

“I don’t know. I think the look is working for you.” Arthur smirked.

“I promise I’ll slip right back into this little number once I’m done making the call, all right?” 

“Deal.” Arthur leaned in and stole a quick, sharp kiss from Eames. Then, he stood, letting go of Eames’ hands. “Let’s go to the BART Mart. The closest one’s about a mile away. Should only take us a couple of hours to get there, get what we need, and get back.”

“Well, we’ve got about six hours to kill.” Eames reached for his pocket watch—and realized that it wasn’t there. A pang went through him. It had been a gift from Dom. Now, it was gone, back at the apartment he may never be able to return to.

God…what was he going to do? He couldn’t go home, he couldn’t go with Arthur off-world. He was lost in this odd limbo—simultaneously living his worst nightmare and his deepest dream. Eventually, he’d have to wake up, figure out a course of action. 

First things first. A shirt that fit, and a decent pair of pants. Then, perhaps, Eames would be ready to face the future…and Robert Fischer.


End file.
